


Resurrection

by wickeddot24



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Stiles is heartbroken, derek disappears after he gets shot, i definitely don't have the dates right but neither did the show's writers so we good, rated t for swearing - mentions of blood & violence - mentions of death & grief, set after 4x12, we were all heartbroken when stiles had to leave derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24645430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickeddot24/pseuds/wickeddot24
Summary: “Stiles, grief is --”“I amnotgrieving!” I stand up abruptly, hearing my voice echo through the office. Deaton leans back in his chair. “Why the fuck should I be grieving over some asshole that I don’t even care about?"ORTwo months after Derek supposedly dies, Stiles learns that Cora isn't the only Hale that's good at pretending to be dead.
Relationships: Alan Deaton & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 114





	1. Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I hope everyone has been able to stay safe during these crazy times?! What a time to be alive. We're already halfway through 2020, but boy am I wondering what the second half has in store for us. I secretly hope it's alien contact, don't tell anyone. Second, it's been a while since I've written anything. Quarantine made me rewatch Teen Wolf and I came up with this. English is not my main language, sorry if there are any mistakes.

**STILES - SATURDAY JUNE 13th, 9:18 am**

_“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just… get to Scott.”_

_“Go!”_

_“How bad is it?”_

_“I can’t -“_

_“Save him.”_

_“Go!”_

I blink myself back to reality as I sit up in my chair. It takes a couple more blinks for my blurry vision to clear up, and I swallow hard as an attempt to get rid of the aching lump in my throat. I move my eyes from the dirty window back to Deaton, who is staring at me. “What the fuck are you looking at?” I ask, my voice somewhat hoarse. I lean back and glance at my hands in my lap.

“Did you see it again?” Deaton asks calmly. His hands are folded on his desk. He’s holding a pen between his fingers, even though he hasn’t been writing anything down.

I shouldn’t have come here. If Ms. Morrell - who knows me well and who has counselled me before - couldn’t help me, why the hell did I think that her brother could? I take a deep breath and nod. _He’s just trying to help_ , I remind myself.

Deaton searches my face, as if he’s looking for something. Anything. “How are you feeling now?”

I can’t help but scoff. My leg is shaking now, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from totally losing control. “How do you think?” I mumble, lowering my head again. “I’m tired of having to answer that question, Deaton. What lie do you want me to come up with now?”

“I don’t want you to lie to me, Stiles. I want you to tell me the truth.” He pauses and shifts in his chair. He looks uncomfortable, and I don’t blame him. “I need to know the truth so I can help you.”

“You can’t help me.”

Deaton leans forward. “If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t be here,” he said quietly. For some reason, him being so calm pisses me off.

I look back up, narrowing my eyes at him. “You know what? You’re right. What the fuck am I doing here?” I raise my voice in anger, unable to hold back. “I’ve spent the last three weeks talking to Ms. Morrell, trying to get over it! She couldn’t help me. I don’t know why I thought you could.”

I do know why I thought he could. Deaton was the only one who was actually close to Derek. He knew more about Derek and his background than anyone. He watched him and his family grow, and then fall apart. The perks of being the former Druid Emissary to the Hale family, I guess.

“Maybe there is no getting over this,” I continue. “Maybe the past two months were just a waste of time.”

“Stiles, grief is --”

“I am _not_ grieving!” I stand up abruptly, hearing my voice echo through the office. Deaton leans back in his chair. “Why the fuck should I be grieving over some asshole that I never even cared about? Derek meant nothing to me, Deaton.” I take a deep breath, bite my cheek and walk over to the window. I have to calm the fuck down.

But as soon as Deaton opens his mouth, I turn around again. “I’m okay. I’m fucking okay because I’m used to it. I’m used to seeing him die over and over again. I’ve gotten used to the sleepless nights and the flashbacks, and I’ve gotten used to not having him around all the time. So yeah, Deaton, I’m okay.” I walk back to my chair. “I’m great.”

“If you’re really feeling so great, then why are you here, Stiles?”

“I need these memories to disappear, Deaton! I can’t stand them. I need them to fuck off so I can finally move on with my life. I need you to take them away, _please_.”

Deaton’s eyes widen a little. After a silent moment, he shakes his head. “No, Stiles. That’s not what you want. Think deeper than that. What do you really want?”

Fuck him for seeing right through me.

I fall into my chair, feeling utterly defeated. I run a hand over my face, rubbing my eyelids. “I just need him to come back, Deaton,” I whisper. “Wherever he is, I need him to come back to me.” I take a deep breath, trying not to cry.

“I know he’s not dead,” I continue. “He can’t be dead. We never found his body. There weren’t any traces of him getting out of there. So unless Braeden took his body and, I don’t know, buried or dumped it somewhere, he has to be alive.”

There’s another silence, and it immediately makes me suspicious. I look up at Deaton and narrow my eyes at him. “Tell me honestly, Deaton. Do you really think he’s dead?”

After a long moment, he shakes his head.

*.*.*

“How did it go?”

I close Deaton’s front door behind me, keeping my eyes on the ground. “I thought that me leaving early so you can’t come with me made it perfectly clear that I don’t want you here,” I sigh.

Scott slides off the hood of my jeep. “You know I don’t listen.” He keeps his eyes on me as I walk toward the car. “So, how did it go?” he repeats, walking to the door of the passenger side. His car isn’t here. Of course he ran.

“I should have come to Deaton sooner,” I say, unlocking the car door. I look at Scott to throw the keys at him, but of course he already unlocked the door with his wolfly fingernail. I can’t help but roll my eyes.

At the very beginning of this whole werewolf thing, there had been a time where I was jealous of his werewolf powers. I had wished to be supernatural too. I wanted to actually be able to do something for my friends, for Beacon Hills. I wanted to help people in a way no one else could. I struggled with being a simple human being, even though that’s exactly what I’ve always been.

And then I let the Nogitsune in, and I became void Stiles. I became the exact opposite of what I wanted to be. Whoever granted my wish, was a fucking asshole.

But that’s just how my life works, I guess.

“Stiles?”

I snap out of my thoughts, looking up at him. “What?”

“I asked why you should have come sooner. What happened?”

For a split second, I’m thinking about shrugging it off and not telling him. Telling him would make it so much more real and if Deaton is wrong, it would feel like losing Derek all over again. But I don’t want to keep this from Scott. I know he wouldn’t keep that from me either. “Deaton thinks Derek is still alive. From the moment he disappeared, Deaton has been trying to track him down.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “What?”

“For the past two months, Deaton made me and everyone else believe that Derek was dead. He didn’t tell anyone, because he didn’t want to give us false hope. He never even wanted me to come here in the first place. He only did it because Ms. Morrell basically begged him.”

I can feel the anger building up inside of me, and this time I don’t want to calm down. I throw my keys on the driver’s seat and point at Deaton’s house as Scott makes his way around the car toward me. “For the entire time I was in there, he put up this fancy shit show, pretending he didn’t know any better. The only reason he told me the truth, is because I asked him directly and _he felt sorry_ for me! He couldn’t stand having to lie to me. But that’s exactly what he’s been doing for weeks! That _fucking ass-_ “

“Stiles!”

“WHAT?!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I’m furious. My hands are shaking, my entire body feels heavy. My head is pounding, and all I want to do right now is run. Run away from everyone and everything. Run to wherever Derek ran off to.

Scott plants his hands on my shoulder, shaking me lightly. “Take a breath,” he says quietly.

“I’m breathing just fine!”

There’s a short silence between us. The corners of his mouth turn up, quickly followed by a loud snort and a laugh.

I can’t help but smile back at him. Scott has this talent of being able to make me feel better, even when I’m at my lowest. When my mother died, he was the only one who could get to me. We were so young, but he always knew exactly what to say or do to get me to play with him. To get me to eat something. To get me to talk.

When Derek died - or apparently disappeared - it was the exact same. He was always supportive of me wanting to find him. And three weeks ago, when I finally gave up, he was right there to catch me. He even skipped school for a couple of days so he could stay home with me. He listened to me when I cried, when I talked, when I screamed.

“So Derek is still alive?” Scott asks, taking his hands off my shoulders.

I nod. “Deaton thinks so.”

“That’s good news, right? If Deaton is right and he can track Derek down, we might be able to get in touch with him. _You_ can get in touch with him.”

“Is it good news, though?” I mumble. Scott looks at me questioningly, and I shrug. “If Deaton is right, it means that Derek didn’t leave because he died. It means that he left because he wanted to. He didn’t want to be here anymore.” _It means that I… wasn’t enough to make him stay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting part two somewhere in the next few days. Here's a cookie:
> 
> “You’re not gonna jump, are you?”
> 
> I turn around. “How did you find me?”
> 
> Scott steps a little closer. “Deaton knows you’re alive. He’s been trying to find you. Deaton may be smart, but he’s not a werewolf.”


	2. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my main language, sorry if there are any mistakes.

**DEREK - WEDNESDAY APRIL 8th, 11:03 pm**

“How bad is it?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just… just get to Scott.”

Nobody moves. They’re nailed to the ground, eyes filled with pure panic. I flare my nostrils. There’s so much sweat, smoke and fear. But the smell of iron overrules. I can even taste it. I try to swallow it down but after less than a second, it comes right back up.

“Just find him. I’ll be right behind you,” I lie. “Go.”

They’re all staring at me. They’re staring at my face. At my wounds and the blood. At the dead Berserker on the ground. At all the blood, there’s so much blood and pain. My breaths are sharp and short, and they hurt like hell.

Braeden is pressing her hands against my stomach, trying to stop me from bleeding out. I glance down at her hands for a brief moment, then back at her face. She swallows hard, shaking her head at me. We both know that this is no use. I’m dying. There’s no saving me.

I look back at the others. “Go!” I yell. _Get the hell out of here. Scott needs you more than I do._

Peter gives me an apologetic look. I can tell he doesn’t want to leave, but he knows better. He’s been here before. He knows what to do. So he gives me one last look before running inside. Malia and Liam follow him closely. Stiles doesn’t. His eyes are fixated on me.

“Hey,” I say quietly. I almost ask him to stay. I want him to sit next to me, take my hand and tell me that everything is going to be okay, even though we know it won’t. I don’t want him to leave me. “Save him,” I say instead.

Stiles keeps looking at me. His eyes wander over my entire body, as if he’s taking it all in for one last time. Then he nods, turns around and walks away. A different kind of pain shoots through my body.

“I can’t -“ I shift slightly, hissing and grunting. The ground beneath me is getting warmer, and I know I’m losing too much blood. I am not surviving this.

In the distance, I see Stiles looking back at me. I clench my teeth and change my mind. No, I don’t want him to stay. I don’t want him to know how much it hurts. I don’t want him to see me dead. So when he looks at me for one last time, I try to smile at him. I try to tell him that I’m okay.

He runs off.

“I can’t breathe,” I whisper to Braeden as soon as Stiles is inside. My vision is getting blurry and my entire body feels heavy.

“I know,” she replies quietly. Her eyes fill with tears, but I can tell she’s trying so hard to stay strong. All this time I’ve been worried about Stiles, not realizing that Braeden is right here. I take her hand, and she squeezes it. “I’m so sorry.”

I rest my head against the rock and look up. The stars in the sky are dancing. “Stay with me,” I beg her. I don’t want to be alone.

Braeden nods, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m right here.” Her hands leave my stomach, and she cups my face. “I’m right here, Derek. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to… close my eyes,” I mumble in between painful breaths. “Just for… a second.”

“You can,” she sobs.

So I do.

*.*.*

“Brae…”

My head is throbbing. There’s a ringing sound in my ears, and my lungs feel like they’re being stung by a dozen needles. I inhale as much air as possible, and realize - a little too late - that that is the worst thing I can do. I end up in a bad coughing fit, spitting out more blood.

I just want Peter or Scott to take some pain, even if it’s just a little bit.

“Braeden.”

I open my eyes. It takes a moment for them to adjust but when they finally do, I notice that Braeden isn’t sitting next to me anymore. She must’ve left when I passed out. She didn’t stay with me, like she said she would.

I sit up, pressing my hand against the wound. The blood has stopped gushing out, and I know that I’m _this_ close to bleeding out. I close my eyes for a few seconds, trying to get rid of the dizziness. Then it dawns on me.

The ringing sounds I’m hearing are gunshots.

They’re still fighting.

_Shit._

With my free hand I push myself off the ground. I grit my teeth to stop myself from yelling. The pain is almost unbearable. I’m trying so hard to heal, but nothing is happening. Nothing’s changing.

I glance over the rock. There are still some Berserkers, and Chris and his men are still trying to kill Kate.

Braeden isn’t there. Scott and Stiles aren’t there.

Scott better makes. He better fucking makes it. I can’t have Stiles lose him too.

I fall forward on my knees, fighting the urge to lay back down and close my eyes for good. I gently take off my jacket and wrap it around my waist, tying the sleeves directly over the wound. With one hand over the knot, I carefully crawl my wait out of there, trying not to leave any trails.

No one will find me.

Once I’m well past the tree line, I take a break. My legs and arms are wobbly, my entire body is begging me to stop. But I can’t. Not yet.

The thought of Stiles crosses my mind. I hope that one day, he’ll understand why I did what I’m doing.

After a few more minutes of crawling and hissing and telling myself that I’m doing the right thing, I find an abandoned shed. I drop myself against it, not finding the strength to go inside. I just can’t go any further. I’m drained. I’m done.

It doesn’t take long before my entire body goes numb. Suddenly, it’s not cold anymore. There’s no more pain, no more fear. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence.

Then I hear Stiles scream my name.

And everything goes black.

**DEREK - TUESDAY JUNE 16th, 1:43 am**

My bare feet dangle over the cliff of Lookout Point. I lean back on the palm of my hands, scanning the city. It’s dark and quiet. For now. In a couple of hours, hundreds of alarms will go off and twice as many people will start their day. They will go on with their lives, as if nothing even happened.

Beacon Hills has been my home for as long as I’m alive. I was born here, I grew up here. I learned how to love, and I also learned how to lose. And over the past few years, I’ve lost a lot. Because of that, I’ve been trying to escape Beacon Hills. There were too many painful memories, too many graves to visit.

When I finally had the chance to leave this all behind, I couldn’t. Because in the middle of all this chaos, I found my peace. I found someone who could make me stay. Someone who made me love Beacon Hills just a little more.

No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t hate him. We were always bickering and blaming, but he was always there for me. More than once, he offered me shelter when I had nowhere to go. He put his own life in danger when I got paralyzed and almost drowned in the pool. He drove me around and helped me when I got shot with wolfsbane. He almost chopped off my entire arm, just so I could live.

He always believed in me, just like I had always believed in him. Except I never showed him.

I look east, knowing exactly where to find Stiles’ house. His bedroom light is on again, and I wonder what he has been doing for the past few nights. Is he making homework? Are they trying to solve another mystery? Maybe he can’t sleep in the dark anymore.

Or maybe he’s looking for me?

Every night, I sit here, trying to find the courage to go back to him. Every night, I fail.

I stand up. With one swift movement, I take off my shirt. I can feel my wolf nails coming out, and my ears and tailbone are starting to itch.

And then, out of nowhere, my nose catches something - someone. The first thing that comes to mind is ‘run’, but it’s too late. I let down my guard for a little too long, and now he has found me.

“You’re not gonna jump, are you?”

I turn around. “How did you find me?”

Scott steps a little closer. “Deaton knows you’re alive. He’s been trying to find you. Deaton may be smart, but he’s not a werewolf.” He pauses, taking a deep breath through his nose. “I have to admit, it took me a while to find you. You know how to mask your scent.”

My heart is racing in my chest. There’s no emotion in Scott’s voice or face, which makes him hard to read. I don’t smell anything except his cologne, grass and an upcoming storm. “So do you,” I admit. Or maybe I’m just too panicked to focus on my senses.

“I learned from the best.” He smiles briefly as he moves closer to me. His eyes wander to Stiles’ house, and I follow his gaze. The lights are still on.

“Does he know?” I ask.

“That you’re alive? Yes. But he doesn’t know that I’m here.” He nods towards the house. “I bet you’re wondering what he’s doing now.”

I know now. He’s looking for a way to find me.

“When you disappeared, Stiles went… insane. He didn’t want to believe that you dead, even though all the evidence led to you being dead. You lost a shit ton amount of blood, Derek…” He looks at me and glances down at my stomach, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out how I survived.

“He never stopped looking for you, even though everyone told him that it was no use,” Scott continues. “Three weeks ago, he called me in the middle of the night, caught in a massive panic attack. He had finally realized that you were gone. He completely crashed. He’s been talking to Ms. Morrell ever since.”

My chest aches. How could I ever do this to him? “Scott, I never meant to -“

“Derek,” he interrupts me. “Whatever happened, I hope you have a good explanation for it. Because it’s not me you have to convince. It’s Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting the third and final chapter on Sunday evening (CEST). Here's a very small cookie:
> 
> Stiles clears his throat. “You died.”
> 
> “I didn’t,” is all I can manage to get out.


	3. Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my main language, sorry if there are any mistakes.

**STILES - WEDNESDAY JUNE 17th, 12:59 pm**

As soon as the big hand hits twelve, I know that this is going to be the longest minute of my life. Time is a bitch that way. It doesn’t care about anything. It just keeps going, never slowing down, never going faster.

But there are two exceptions. When you’re having fun, time seems to accelerate. When you desperately need that one minute to fly by so you can get the hell out of class, time slows down.

And right now, time cannot go any fucking slower.

Coach calls my name for the third time, trying to get me to pay attention. For the third time, I choose to ignore him. He curses under his breath - using words I’ve never even heard of - and continues to teach. I can catch up on Economics later.

Without taking my eyes off the clock, I close my book and throw my pencil case in my bag. My foot taps the floor uncontrollably.

The boy sitting next to me grunts. “Can you fucking stop?”

“As a matter of fact, no. No, I can’t.”

I take my phone out of my pocket and hide it under the table as type out a text.

_\- Last one on the field is goalie._

It doesn’t take long for Scott to reply.

_\- I’ll give you a head start. I’ll go pick up our stuff._

I scoff and shake my head.

_\- You’re always underestimating me_ , I answer.

This morning, Scott randomly decided that it was time for me to start training again. He offered to give me a few hours of practice in private, because after being out for two months, we both know that those are highly needed. I can’t have Coach yelling my ass off on my first day back on the field. I’m surprised he even let me take a couple of weeks off.

I look back at the clock, just in time for me to see it hit one pm. “Fucking finally,” I mutter to myself as the bell rings. I shove the rest of my stuff in my bag and race out the door, ignoring Coach’s explanation of an assignment he’s giving us. I’ll catch up on that as well.

Until a few days ago, I sauntered through the hallways. I kept my head down and ignored whoever tried to talk to me. I simply didn’t have the energy to have full conversations, especially when I started my therapy sessions with Ms. Morrell.

I was usually the last one to leave the parking lot. Going home meant disappointing my dad by skipping lunch or dinner, and locking myself up in my bedroom for the rest of the day.

Today is different. Today, I have hope.

My bag bounces against my back as I run toward the back door of the school. My eyes fall on a decorated locker, and I stop dead in my tracks. Allison’s locker is still covered in notes, letters and photos. The flowers are still on the floor, surrounded by a couple of burnt out candles. It’s been a few months since she died, but the school decided to ‘keep her memory alive’ until the end of the schoolyear.

As if that’s going to bring her back.

“Watch where you’re going!” A girl purposely runs into me, almost knocking me off my feet. She sighs dramatically as she walks past.

“I wasn’t really _going_ , I was standing still,” I mumble.

I glance at Ally’s locker one more time before jogging out of the building. I am _so_ going to be goalie.

When I arrive at the lacrosse field, I scan it quickly. To my surprise, I’m completely alone. I throw a fist in the air and let out a small “whoop”. But the celebration doesn’t last long. I know exactly why I won.

I fish my phone out of my bag.

_\- Dude, you totally let me win._

I can’t believe he’s doing this. He’s probably slow-walking his way out of the dressing room, grinning to himself. Of course I told him not to use his werewolf powers against me, but I also warned him about taking it easy on me. No special treatments.

My phone buzzes.

_\- Whatever you feel, just hear him out._

I reread the message at least three times. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I whisper to myself. I start walking closer to the field.

That’s when I figure out what Scott means.

Because on the tribunes, I see him.

He turns around, and I cannot believe my eyes.

**DEREK - WEDNESDAY JUNE 17th, 12:59 pm**

When I was younger, I never considered my werewolf senses as a gift. Or even useful for that matter. My and my family’s life had always been peaceful and calm. There was never much trouble. So I barely used them. It had become a habit for me to shut them off, and I did it as often as possible.

Mom tried to teach me to rely on the senses. She hated it when I didn’t use them. One time, when I was out with friends, she’d even snuck up on me, just to find out if I was using them in public places. I wasn’t, so she sent me home, where she’d lectured me for at least two hours.

I never understood the importance of it, and why it made her so angry. Everything had always been just fine. A couple of days after the fire, I finally realized it. But it was way too late. I guess she’d always known that something was bound to happen.

I look up at the trees on the other side of the lacrosse field. A warm, soft summer breeze makes the leaves rustle quietly. The birds are singing, and I try to calm myself down.

Last night, when I told Scott what had happened, he understood. He had ordered me to come here, and told Stiles that they were training. He called it “a white lie”.

The bell rings, making my heart jump in my chest.

So much for calming down.

After taking a deep breath, I start listening in. There’s a lot of noise in the school, but the all-too familiar sound of his racing heart reaches my ears quickly. I try to suppress a smile, but fail. This is the first time I can actually hear or smell him. Ever since I came back, I’ve been trying to keep my distance.

All of a sudden, a wave of grief crashes over Stiles. I remember Scott telling me about Allison’s locker, and Stiles’ guilt. He still blames himself for her death, even though we’ve all been trying to persuade him that it was never his fault.

“Watch where you’re going!” An unfamiliar, female voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

“I wasn’t really _going_ , I was standing still,” Stiles replies, annoyed. He starts running again. A few seconds later, the back door of the school opens and closes, and I can hear him getting closer to me. Getting closer to knowing the truth.

Will he be happy to see me? Will he run up to me and hug me? Or will he just stand there? What if he doesn’t believe it’s actually me? What if he just turns around and walks away, and doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore? A million different scenarios cross my mind.

My heart is pounding in my chest. I rub the palms of my hands against my legs, trying to get rid of the sweat. The last time I’ve felt like this, was when Laura decided it was best for us to move to New York.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The obvious confusion in his voice almost makes me smile.

I gather everything that’s left of my courage, and I turn around to look at him, only to find him already staring at me. His mouth is a thin line and his entire body is tensed. His bag is sliding down his shoulder, and it looks like it’s pulling Stiles down with it.

All I can do is turn back to the field.

This was a bad idea.

A few long minutes pass, and then I hear him getting closer to the tribunes. I clasp my hands together, letting out a deep breath. He comes up the stairs and to my surprise, he sits down right next to me. In the corner of my eye, I can see him studying my face.

Then we both stare ahead.

I know I have to speak up and explain everything that has happened, but I can’t bring myself to start talking. For some reason, I can’t even look at him.

He clears his throat. “You died.”

“I didn’t,” is all I can manage to get out.

Stiles turns in his seat to look at me. “I watched you die, Derek. There was blood everywhere.” He lowers his gaze to my stomach. “When we came back, you were… gone. Braeden had disappeared. We had no idea what happened to you.”

I study his face. He’s still the same Stiles that I left in Mexico, but he looks so different. He has dark circles under his eyes, his lips are dry and chapped, and his hair looks like it hasn’t seen a comb in days.

“I didn’t die,” I reply. “I’m right here.”

A combination of pain, anger and curiosity flashes through his eyes. “Yeah, you’re here now. But where the fuck have you been for the past two months?”

“I thought I was dying, too. So I dragged myself out of there because I didn’t want you to find my body.” Stiles swallows as he looks away. “Turns out I wasn’t dying. I was evolving.”

“Into a wolf?”

I nod.

He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. When he speaks, his voice is trembling. “So, what, it took you two whole months to evolve?” He turns his head toward me, and our eyes meet. “Why didn’t you just come back to me? If you had told me you just needed some time to heal, I would’ve understood. Maybe I could’ve helped you.”

“I couldn’t come back, Stiles,” I say. “I wasn’t in control of myself. I was dangerous…” I trail off, remembering all the things I wanted to do in Mexico. “I’ve spent weeks in an abandoned shed, trying to get my shit together, or punishing myself for things I shouldn’t have done. You know I’ve always struggled with control. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Stiles sighs deeply as he leans his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands.

“I’m so sorry. I did it to protect you. I never wanted to -“

“You knew,” he says, interrupting me. He lifts his head to look back at me, his eyes red and tear-filled. “I know you knew how I felt about you. I suck at hiding shit like that. And you still decide to disappear on me and pretend to be dead. I don’t think you understand what you’ve put me through.”

I did know, right from the start, and I didn’t need my werewolf senses for that. The way he looked at me, the way he smelled and how his heartrate sped up whenever he saw me… The signs were obvious. But pushing him away had always been easier than letting him in.

Thinking about it now, I realize that’s exactly why I hadn’t reached out to him. But he’s right. Evolving and gaining control hadn’t been easy, but at least I wasn’t the one who’d spent months grieving over someone who never even died in the first place.

“Stiles, please. Just tell me how I can fix this.”

A tear rolls down his cheek. Instinctively, I reach out and wipe it away, half-cupping his face. He closes his eyes briefly and leans into my hand. My heart breaks at the sight.

All of a sudden, he crashes into me, our bodies clashing as he pulls me into a tight hug, burying his head in my neck. I put my arms around him, resting my chin on his shoulder. Even though we both know it’s not possible, we try to pull each other closer. “I’m so sorry,” I mumble.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his breath warm against my collarbone. “You came back, and you explained. That’s all that matters for now.”

“I’ll always come back for you,” I mutter, and I mean it.

We sit there for a while, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Neither of us wants to let go, and it’s fine for both of us.

“So I’m guessing Scott’s not coming?” he asks, a hint of joy in his voice.

I chuckle. “No, he’s not.”

“Fucking Scott.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for Resurrection. I really didn't know where I was going with this story, but I'm okay with how it ended. I hope you are, too! Feel free to leave kudos and comments! Thank you so much for reading! :)


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